DEAN, THERE'S A ZOMBIE AT THE DOOR
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: Knock, knock.  Who's there?  Come now, it's just looking for braaaiiins.  Maybe.  Or maybe not.  Slight spoilers for Episode 7.17.


**A/N: **I meant for this to be a fun little romp. A cracky and humorous oneshot. Nothing too serious. It's a bit different. Even odd. But hopefully you'll stick with it. And if you hate it, please don't flame me. Also, note that the italics are intentionally done the way they are-it's not in error.

**Spoilers: **Minor mentions of events in 7.17.

**Disclaimers:** As always, I don't own them. Just having a bit of fun.

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><p><strong>DEAN, THERE'S A ZOMBIE AT THE DOOR<strong>

**By: Vanessa Sgroi**

Sam finished tying his shoes, stood and stretched, rubbing at his eyes. The long, hot shower he'd finished 15 minutes ago had gone a long way to waking him up and smoothing away the lingering weariness and fogginess that had dogged him since his asylum crash and subsequent Lucifer-free, slumber-filled days. But as miraculous as the shower had been, the powerful need for coffee gripped him. Snatching up the car keys, he loped for the door.

"I'm goin' for coffee. Want anything else?"

"Bring me a doughnut," replied Dean without looking away from the computer screen.

"Doughnut. Got it." Sam reached for the door, yanked it open, only to immediately stumble back a step. With a startled grunt, he slammed the door closed.

At the noise, Dean loo_ked up_, _a quizzical frown marring his brow._

"_Dean, there's a zombie at the door!"_

"_What? No. Gotta be your imagination, Sam. There's no zombie at the door. Can't be. That's not even what we're here hunting."_

"_Dean, I'm telling you, there's a zombie at the door!"_

_The older Winchester rose. "And I'm telling you there's not." He marched across the room and threw open the door. "See?"_

"_**Braaaiiins! Braaaiiins!"**_

_Dean slammed the door, leaning against it just as the sonorous thumping started. "Shit. You were right. And if there's one, there's more." The wood behind Dean began to splinter under the repeated assault; a mottled gray green arm pushed its way through the door._

Sam woke with a cry, reaching vertical in a split second. Panting, his gaze roamed the still-dark room and he let out a huff of a laugh. _Dreaming. I was dreaming._ The very thought almost brought a tear to his eye as it hit home that he'd been asleep enough to have a normal—Winchester normal—nightmare.

With a rueful shake of his head, Sam stretched back out on the bed and pulled the blankets to his neck. He plumped his pillow, rubbed his face into the scratchy material a few times. Sam yawned and closed his eyes, quickly drifting back into slumber.

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><p>Sam tied his shoe with a flourish and stood, lifting his arms toward the ceiling and indulging in a massive full body stretch. The quick shower he'd taken had done much to wake him but still craved coffee like a fiend. Grabbing the car keys from the nightstand, he headed for the door.<p>

"Coffee run. You want something to go with it?"

"Doughnuts," grunted Dean, deeply absorbed in what he was reading on the computer screen.

Sam shook his head. Sugar and fat—he should've known. "Got it." Sam reached for the door and pulled it open, only to immediately stumble back a step as a fetid, death-filled stench wafted into the room. "What the—" Sam shoved the door closed.

At the noise, Dean loo_ked up. "What? Too cold out there for you princess?"_

"_Dean, there's a zombie at the door!"_

"_What? You feelin' okay over there, Sammy? There's no zombie at the door. Can't be. That's not even what we're here hunting."_

"_Dean, I'm telling you, there's a zombie at the door!"_

_The older Winchester rose. "And I'm telling you there's not." He marched across the room and threw open the door. "See?"_

"_**Braaaiiins! Braaaiiins!"**_

_Dean slammed the door, leaned against it just as the sonorous thumping started. "Shit. You were right. And if there's one, there's more." The wood behind Dean began to splinter under the repeated assault; a mottled gray green arm pushed its way through the door, wrapping around Dean's neck…_

Sam woke with a yell, sitting straight as he panted. His gaze locked on the intact door before roaming over to the other bed where Dean snored amidst a nest of tangled blankets. _Dreaming. I was dreaming. Again. The same dream twice in a row._

With a groan Sam shook his head, slumping back on the bed and pulling the blankets to his neck. Grumbling in irritation, he folded and spindled his pillow until it was suitable for his needs. He yawned and closed his eyes, dropping off to sleep as the tension eased from his body.

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><p><em>At the sound of the door slamming shut, Dean looked up, a quizzical frown marring his brow.<em>

"_Dean, there's a zombie at the door!"_

"_What? No. Gotta be your imagination, Sammy. There's no zombie at the door. Can't be. That's not even what we're in this town hunting."_

"_Dean, I'm telling you, there's a zombie at the door!"_

_The older Winchester rose. "And I'm telling you there's not." He marched across the room and threw open the door. "See?"_

_A shredded, bloody, half-rotted face stared back. Its eyes filmed white and black lips smacking together as it sought to chew on something vital and tasty. Needy grunts rammed against moldering teeth as it scented flesh._

_Dean slammed the door, braced himself against it just as the sonorous whump-whump-whumping started. He stared at his brother. "Shit. You were right, dammit. And where there's one, there's many. We need a plan." The wood behind Dean began to splinter under the steady assault; a mottled gray green arm pushed its way through the door wrapping around his neck, blackened nails clawing at his cheek, leaving bloody furrows behind. As the hole widened, snapping jaws came next as Dean strained to avoid the bite. The arm tightened, cutting off his air._

"_Sam!"_

"SAM!" Dean woke with a shout, his torso lurching upward as he gasped for breath. Lungs heaving, he ran a hand down his face.

Having just crossed the threshold with a tray bearing four steaming cups, Sam's brow folded and creased. "Dude, you okay over there?"

Starting at the sound of his younger brother's voice, Dean pulled in a breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out. Scrubbing at his sleep-flattened hair, Dean muttered, "Yeah, yeah. I'm fine."

Sam sat the tray of coffee down on the small table. A white waxed bag crinkled as it came to rest next to it. "Nightmare?"

Dean scooted back and leaned against the pock-marked headboard. He grunted and wiped sleepy-dirt from his eyes. "Yeah, you could say that. And you won't believe what it was about."

"Oh?"

"Mmm hmm. Get this—I dreamed about you…you…uhh…and you were dreaming about zombies. Like over and over."

Sam pulled the lid off of one of his coffees and took a draught, wincing as the liquid burned his tongue. He pointed to the white bag. "I brought doughnuts to go with our coffee." He took another bracing sip. "So you had a nightmare about me having a nightmare—_nightmares_—about zombies."

"Yep, something like that."

"Weird."

"Tell me about it." Dean's nostrils twitched as the scent of Columbian roast filtered through the room. He pushed back the covers and eased out of bed. He padded barefoot over to the door and cautiously swung it open.

"What're you doing?"

"Just checking." Dean stuck his head out the door and looked right and left then lifted his gaze to scan the horizon. Finally giving himself and internal all clear, he closed the door with a decisive thud and hurried over to where Sam stood, reaching for his own coffee. "Gimme one of these." He inhaled appreciatively as he removed the lid.

_Meanwhile…_

_The male zombie rounded the corner of the motel, its shredded, bloody, half-rotted face slack as it lurched and lumbered forward on pigeoned feet. Its eyes were filmed a dirty white and black lips smacked together as it sought something vital and tasty on which to feast. Needy grunts rammed against moldering teeth as it scented a smorgasbord of tempting flesh. Behind him came a female, head and torso only, dragging itself laboriously with its hands and leaving a slimy trail of gore in its wake…_

_**FIN**_


End file.
